The Getaway
by nightgigjo
Summary: Prompt via putthepromptsonpaper: "She drove into the night with only a vague determination that anywhere must be better than the place she left behind." Rated T because Dean. (Updating whenever I have the next chapter written.)
1. Chapter 1

She drove into the night with only a vague determination that anywhere must be better than the place she left behind. It hadn't even mattered to her which car she had stolen, so long as she got away.

In retrospect, it should have.

It had started out normally enough: increased werewolf activity in the greater Boston area, so the Salem contingent had called in an expert. As a senior official in the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures and a former Auror, this sort of assignment was precisely up Hermione's alley, as they said on this side of the Pond. She had taken a small team with her to the neighborhood of Muggle Boston that sidled up to the hidden areas of Wizarding Boston, to investigate the report they had from a witch complaining of howling noises coming from just beyond her back garden. The Muggles they'd interviewed hadn't given them more than "those weird frat boys coming and going at all hours" in the house at the end of the street. It was early evening by the time they'd gone knocking there. As they approached the house, they heard a scuffle going on inside. Before they could decide what to do, the front door had flown open and a flood of creatures had poured through.

Within moments her two companions had been torn to pieces. Several feral-looking men (with claws and fangs, but no other hallmarks of lycanthropy, her mind relentlessly catalogued) had jumped them almost at once, and only Hermione's war-honed reflexes had saved her. Mitchell had been about to get off a curse when the first creature took him down, and Baines had simply turned and ran. One of the creatures had given instant and lethal chase.

Hermione had fired off one or two curses in the resulting chaos, simultaneously thanking Merlin and Ginny Weasley for teaching her the value of the Jelly-Legs Jinx. It had at least slowed her pursuers, just enough to let her to reach the line of cars parked to one side of the road. Shots fired behind her, which only spurred her on. She skidded to a halt in front of a long black car, crouching down with the entire vehicle between her and the definitely-not-werewolves who were on her scent.

She caught a glimpse of two tall, backlit figures moving just behind the creatures, striding purposefully, arms raised as though holding weapons. The taller of the two hefted a shotgun, while the other wielded a blade that glinted dully in the street lamp light. They were driving the creatures onward, moving steadily out into the open yard, while the man-monsters scattered. The ones that ran, the taller man shot. She held herself as still as she could, unsure whether or not to try and make a move to escape. By their weapons, these two were clearly Muggles, so unless her life were in immediate danger, she couldn't use magic they could detect. The last of the monsters turned when he heard his comrades fall, flight switching instantly to fight. Without comment, the second of the pursuers hefted his blade, slowly, almost lazily, before letting it drop in an easy arc, cleanly severing the creature's head from its neck.

Hermione stifled her gasp of surprise and revulsion, but not quite enough. Two heads shot in her direction, and two pairs of heavy footsteps began to pace towards her hiding place.

Without thinking, Hermione sent a wordless spell across the clearing towards the great oak tree, severing a branch with a significant crack.

The distraction worked. Both men took their eyes off her position just long enough for her to Apparate into the car as the limb crashed down onto the roof of the house, masking the noise. Their muffled shouts were drowned out by the revving of the motor, and she sped away from the entire bewildering disaster.


	2. Chapter 2

"Oh, you are not….No no no no no no no no no NO!"

Sam jogged up behind his brother, who was now cursing vehemently and violently at the rapidly diminishing back-end of the Impala. Sam stared, dumbfounded, as Baby vanished around a corner, tires squealing.

"Did she...?" Sam stuttered, as Dean's impressive display of vulgarity rolled to a halt.

"DAMMIT!" Dean roared, kicking the curb in a fit of temper, before more carefully stowing his silver knife in his back pocket.

"Well, that sucks," his brother agreed, lowering the sawed-off shotgun to his side.

"CAS!" Dean bellowed into the night that had fallen around them. "You gotta help us, dude!"

A rustle of wings sounded behind them, and the brothers spun on the spot. "Yes, Dean?" Castiel inquired, as unruffled as ever.

"Somebody stole Baby," Dean replied, rushing over to the angel, impulsively grabbing a fistful of trenchcoat sleeve. "Quick, mojo us into the back seat so we can steal her back!"

Castiel gave a quick nod, and lowered his head. His frown of concentration was quickly replaced by one of confusion. "I...cannot," he rumbled, looking at Dean in dismay. "Something is blocking me."

"Sam," Dean said, rolling his eyes, "tell me you didn't angel-ward the car or something?"

"Dude, no!" Sam exclaimed, offended. "Of course I didn't-"

"Shh," his brother interrupted, eyes intent on the angel's face. "What is it, Cas?'

Castiel was shaking his head slowly. "I… do not understand what is happening, Dean," he replied uneasily.

"Well," the elder Winchester began impatiently, "we were cleaning out a den of werewolves when some chick came out of nowhere and stole my car."

Castiel's frown deepened even further, though that hadn't seemed possible until it happened. "You were not hunting mages?" he said in disbelief.

"Witches, you mean?" Sam clarified. "Haven't run across any of those for a while, right, Dean?"

His brother was starting to get twitchy. "You don't mean some witch-freak has stolen Baby? Not my Baby!" he wailed, though neither Sam nor Castiel paid much attention to these theatrics.

"Not a witch, Dean," Castiel corrected. "But it could be one of the mage-born. They...are not inherently harmful, as demons are," he explained, his expression returning to his very neutral normal. "I have not often encountered them, but their powers are said to be quite varied. It might explain why I cannot take you to your car."

"Aw, hell," Dean grumbled, deflating at last. "Come on, Sammy," he sighed, hitching up his jeans. "Guess we gotta go find her the old-fashioned way." Without a backward glance, Dean strode down the street in the direction that Baby had gone.

Sam cast a sidelong look at the angel, who, very humanly, shrugged. Sam paused a moment, looking back over his shoulder at the carnage they had left behind at the werewolf den. "I don't suppose you could…" Sam trailed off, giving Castiel a hopeful grimace.

The angel raised his hand, casting it over the area, and in an instant, the bodies disappeared from sight.

"Wow," Sam commented, impressed. "Thanks, Cas."

"They are not gone," Castiel replied, almost apologetically. "I have merely hidden them from sight. Once we have recovered the car, you will be able to return and complete this hunt."

"That works," Sam said with a half shrug. "Well, we'd better follow Dean, I guess. Our car thief will have to stop sometime, huh?" he commented, not really asking.

"She will have the same limitations as any human, even if she is mage-born," Castiel answered anyway.

"So what are these mage-born, anyway?" Sam asked curiously, as the two of them ambled after his brother.

"They are human beings," Castiel began, "yet imparted with some of the gifts of the angels. Their powers are neither good nor evil, because they are human."

Sam snorted. "Team Free Will, huh?"

Castiel nodded grimly. "Indeed. Although they are capable of as much evil as the lowest demon, they can also manifest equal goodness. There is no way of knowing which kind we will encounter."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: The Report**

She didn't have far to flee, not to get back into the Wizarding areas of Boston, but the shock of seeing those two men come out of nowhere and begin killing those creatures - whatever they were - had rattled Hermione to her core. She knew she could have stopped them both if she hadn't had the Statue hampering her movements, and Merlin only knew why, the MACUSA was even more stringent about regulations than the Ministry. There was no way she was going to risk prison if she could help it. 

About a mile and a half away from the scene, she pulled into a large car park, a relatively public one near the center of the city. She wasn't far now from the entrance to the Boston equivalent of Auror Headquarters, and she had two fallen deputies to report, among other things. Baines and Mitchell hadn't been green trainees, either; seeing two highly competent wizards cut down so quickly had thrown her off guard as well. 

Hurriedly she made her way through the car park, which was full enough to somewhat disguise her stolen vehicle, but was also blessedly devoid of observers. She presumed there was some CCTV equivalent here, but she had cast a Notice-Me-Not charm on herself and the car, the moment she'd driven off in it. 

As she closed the door, she got her first good look at her purloined getaway car. It was monstrously huge by modern standards, jet black and gleaming, with a broad chrome grill and Kansas number plate on the back. It reminded her, incongruously enough, of the Weasleys' old Ford Anglia - this car was definitely a relic of an earlier era, as that one had been. 

This one, too, had a faint glimmer of something unknown about it, like it wasn't quite as ordinary as it looked. It had been unusually easy to hot-wire, which she hadn't properly questioned at the time. Perhaps she should have it brought in, later, for study.

With that errant thought in her head, Hermione took one last look at the car, casting a quick repelling charm on it before turning resolutely away, and towards the duty she had to accomplish. 

It wasn't a long walk to the front entrance of the Boston branch of MACUSA, disguised as an old-fashioned office building. She breezed through the revolving front door effortlessly, although she could feel her glamour charm dissolve away under the door's enchantments. No matter, she could easily re-apply it, once she'd cleared the security desk. 

The witch on duty took one look at Hermione's grim face, and waved her aside for the expedited security screening. A glance at her left arm and a scan of her wand later, and Hermione was headed up to Auror HQ.

Boston's Head Auror, Constance Wu, was a surprisingly diminutive woman, with a deceptively dazzling smile. She seemed to Hermione's mind more like a schoolteacher than an Auror: greying black hair pulled tightly into a bun, a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles with tiny rectangular frames perched on her nose. 

Auror Wu was stationed behind her desk, as though she had been waiting for Hermione to appear. When no one else followed her through the door, her smile disappeared completely. "Where are Baines and Mitchell?" she demanded without preamble. 

"Dead," Hermione replied, without much emotion, and launched into her report of the evening's events. 

The Head Auror's expression did not change, except when she mentioned the two men who slaughtered the creatures. Then, for the briefest moment, Auror Wu's eyebrow twitched, but otherwise she betrayed no reaction to any of this news. "I take it you were not able to secure the scene?" she inquired blandly. 

"No, ma'am, I was not," Hermione replied. "I'm sorry." 

"It is no matter," Auror Wu replied. "It was more important that you survived to tell the tale. We will send a full team with you this time. You can take them to claim the officers' bodies, and recover their wands. Leave the car for now, and you may return it once your duty is complete." 

This would have been the time for Hermione to have mentioned her suspicions about said car, or at least request an examination by someone from whatever their Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office was called. Instead, the thought flitted through her mind and out again without causing her a single moment's hesitation. She gave the Head Auror a curt but dutiful nod, and departed without another word.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: The Discovery**

"This is...odd."

They had caught up to their quarry — or the car, at least. So Castiel had said, once they got to the entrance of a parking garage on the edge of Boston Common.

An apparently empty garage.

Castiel's brows were knit together in concentration as he walked forward into the garage, turning from side to side, scanning for the source of the interference. "It is here," he insisted, "but it is hidden from my sight. I do not know how this was accomplished."

Sam hummed thoughtfully. "So, what? It's invisible? Can mage-born do that?"

"I do not know," Castiel replied, "but it is not only that. Every time I believe I am close to finding it, my mind is assailed by the most incongruous thoughts."

"What kind of thoughts?" Dean said at once, peering suspiciously at him.

"That...I have duty elsewhere," the angel explained, obviously discomfited. "That Armageddon is nigh, that Leviathan must be stopped, that the Darkness must be defeated, and I must be far away from this place in order to do accomplish this."

"But we've already done all that," Sam countered.

"That is what puzzles me," Castiel said simply. "I know this cannot be real, and yet the thoughts persist."

"Huh. Maybe it's some kind of angel warding? Let me give it a try," Sam replied. He took several steps forward into the parking lot, before stopping short. "Whoa," he exclaimed, leaping backwards a step before whirling to face the two of them. "That is weird!"

"What?" Dean demanded hotly.

"It was _school_ ," Sam said, wonderingly. "I...seriously, Dean, I just remembered I have exams, like the LSAT is coming up and I've got to go!" He stood still, blinking rapidly, but making no move to leave. "I'm still feeling like I ought to go, even though I know it's not real. It's really hard to fight off. If you hadn't told me about it, Cas," he continued, "who knows what I might have done?"

"This is a waste of time," Dean grumbled, striding purposefully past his brother. He was one step away from where Sam had stopped when Castiel grabbed him by the shoulder.

"We have to go," the angel said suddenly. "Someone is trying to access the werewolf den." Without further explanation, Castiel laid his other hand on Sam's arm and winked all three of them out of existence.

Less than a moment later, they were back on the street in front of the werewolf lair. Dean and Sam were still getting their footing, but Castiel was already striding over towards an odd-looking group of people who were clustered near the site. They were mostly tall, mostly men, and all wearing what looked for all the world like graduation robes.

One or two of them were poking and prodding around in what looked like the middle of the air, except the illusion rippled like a curtain every time they did so. The lead figure was also the smallest, and the brothers recognized her in an instant.

Dean sprang past the angel with a guttural growl. "What the HELL did you do to my CAR?"

The woman spun on her heel, and Dean found himself facing a forest's worth of carved sticks. The ridiculousness of the sight was enough to stop him in his tracks. He scoffed, casually placing his hand within reach of the silver knife in his back pocket, and tried again. "I don't know what kind of hoodoo thing you pulled back there, but you stole my car and turned it invisible and I want it fixed NOW."

The only response he got was a raised eyebrow from the woman, and a sharp intake of breath from one of the others. One of the them, a dark-skinned man who held himself like a Marine, tightened his grip on the stick he was holding, and scowled. "Granger," he said sidelong at the woman, "you know the protocol."

"I am aware, Davis," she replied in a smooth British accent. This woman — Granger, apparently — was the only one of the crowd not pointing a tick at the three of them, but her hands were motionless. She wasn't passive: her stance looked more like the practiced ease of someone used to drawing a weapon faster than her opponents.

"Dean," Sam said, giving his brother a warning look. For once, Dean took the hint, and relaxed his posture somewhat. He did not, however, take his hand off the silver knife.

Castiel chose this moment to speak up. "We mean you no harm," the angel began. "We may even be able to assist each other."

Granger turned her focus on Castiel and gave him a piercing look. "You might mean no harm, but your companions are not quite as peace-loving," she replied. "Do not deny it."

"I cannot," the angel replied slowly, "but I will vouch for their behavior tonight."

The woman lifted her chin, assessing this statement. "And what will that behavior be, can you tell me that?"

"We will assist you in your case as much as we are able, and will not betray either the location of your people or the fact of your existence to anyone who would do you harm," Castiel answered readily. "You have my word."

"And what good is your word? Who are you, anyway?" Davis spat.

"My name is Castiel," he said. "I am an angel of the Lord." When the revelation garnered virtually no response from the small crowd in front of him, he sighed. "I...understand if you do not believe me."

Davis's eyebrows contracted in a frown, but Granger's lifted a full centimeter. "Really?" she blurted out, and for a moment she looked more like an excited schoolgirl than the serious woman she had been before. Catching herself, she sobered and gave a curt nod, as if the last few seconds had never happened, and turned to address Sam and Dean. "And you two?"

"Dean Winchester," Dean replied, before nodding curtly at his brother. "My brother, Sam."

The Granger woman raised an eyebrow, and nodded once herself. "Very well," she said to the angel, "I will accept your word: on one condition."

"What is your condition?" Castiel inquired.

"That your two companions reveal their weapons and leave them lying at the foot of that tree, just outside the wards you've set."

Dean grumbled some more under his breath, but one sharp elbow from Sam shut him up again. "Sure," Sam answered for the both of them, laying the sawed-off shotgun down in the indicated place. Reluctantly, Dean followed suit, pulling the silver knife from his back pocket and laying it down in the grass beside the shotgun.

The Granger woman's eyebrow twitched a bit when she saw the knife, but none of the others made a move. "What's in the flask?" she demanded, eyeing Dean's other back pocket as he straightened up again.

"Our conditions," Dean replied gruffly, pulling out the hip flask and handing it to her, holding her gaze intently. "Drink."

Never taking her eyes off Dean's, Granger took hold of the flask, opened it up, and took a swig. She closed it and handed it back to its owner. "Satisfied?" she asked, with businesslike calm.

"Now everyone else," Dean countered.

She gave the order, despite protests from Davis. When the flask had gone around completely and no one had smoked out, Dean exchanged a look with his brother and gave a satisfied nod.

"Now that we have dispensed with the formalities," Granger said, addressing Castiel once more, "may we get to our crime scene, please?"


End file.
